


tidal

by windingwoods



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Minor Character Death, Necromancy, it's way chiller than it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:33:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwoods/pseuds/windingwoods
Summary: She traces the embroidery of her stole, feeling the bumps of the thread woven together to form leaves and roots and buds. This isn’t just about her personal connection with Aradia, it’s about her duties.





	tidal

**Author's Note:**

> in which i ramble about Aradia's and Feferi's relationships with the dead, how would that function in a vague DnD-ish setting 'cause i'm that nerd and eventually get way too carried away with the imagery, possibly fucking my point up.  
> have a happy femslash february pals.

“So you won’t let me revive him, huh.”

Aradia’s voice makes her flinch. It’s not particularly angry, or even strained with any kind of negativity she might have all the right to feel toward Feferi right now, and maybe that’s the problem, the sheer matter-of-fact way she’s dealing with this. Like all the rage Feferi remembers bubbling inside of her when they were younger has been siphoned already, by who knows what, so that all what’s left in its place is an Aradia she doesn’t know how to parse, an Aradia that won’t comply to Feferi’s afterimages.

She traces the embroidery of her stole, feeling the bumps of the thread woven together to form leaves and roots and buds. This isn’t just about her personal connection with Aradia, it’s about her duties.

“Don’t make me repeat myshell, _please_ ,” she says in the end. “Having to say no once is more than enough. Also, that’s not reviving.”

Aradia simply shrugs, not one bit perturbed by Feferi’s not so subtle jab at her field of expertise. “He _would_ be back on his feet and out of the soul limbo, technically.”

“Yeah, as a walking corpse! That’s kind of a big deal in my hook.”

She could never bring herself to put Sollux through that, not with how much happier he seems to be nowadays whenever he finds her in her sleep. He’s even started calling her that old nickname from their childhood, Feefee, and she can’t quite manage to remember why did she even dislike it back then.

“Has he spoken to you?” she asks, because she needs to know if Aradia’s aware of this, too. “From the quote unquote soul limbo?”

For the first time since the start of their first conversation after years of being apart, Aradia visibly deflates. “He has,” she says like she’s confessing something. “Many times, always telling me the same things you’re telling me now.”

When she goes quiet, Feferi raises an eyebrow at her. “And?”

“ _And_ I guess I was pretty much set up for you raining on my necromancy parade too! My bad for trying to be helpful!”

 _Finally_ , chimes the part of herself that was still trying to reconcile the Aradia from the past with the one in front of her; it fills Feferi with giddiness and embarrassment at the same time, like when Sollux first held her hand in his. She doesn’t let herself dwell on it for too long, especially considering she’s got a point to drive home about the quite crucial difference between a living body and a ghoulish mistake.

“Glub that’s been settled, then! Now, if you promise me not to dig up his body in a fit of unbridled helpfulness I’ll gladly take you to his grave for a visit.”

 

***

 

There’s a placid smile on Aradia’s lips that shouldn’t belong on the face of someone who’s just travelled half a continent only to have her undead best friend request shut down without a second though, and she’s playing absentmindedly with an orange, turning it into rot and then back to unripe with the touch of her hand. Time after time.

“Can I ask you somefin?”

She snaps back to attention at that, or at least as close to attention as she seems willing to get, and her smile widens as she says, “sure you can.” The orange in her hand is almost putty, dark brown like it’s burnt.

Feferi taps on her stole again. “You knew how he felt aboat it,” she starts, briefly wonders if she should drop the puns; Aradia’s still grinning and the orange is a dark green little thing again. “And you mast have known how I felt too, so… What I’m glubbing at is, why did you still ask me?”

The orange turns the right colour.

“Well, first of all I have _manners_ ,” Aradia starts, waving one finger around in a mock-chasticing motion. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on a cool corpse party, or freak out about it later, what with your profession as the literal mediator between life and death.”

There’s a lull in the conversation after that, almost imperceptible in the unchanging landscape of Aradia’s demeanor, like finding a single fish scale buried under the sand, and then it’s gone. “Also, it gave me an excuse to see you again.”

The orange has shrunk back to a frail, white flower and Feferi reaches out to take it from where it rests on the bifurcating life line of Aradia’s palm. She’s going to let it rest among the pages of some book later, free from reviving its life through internal clock shenanigans all over again, instead forever dried out in its most beautiful form.

“I wanted to sea you too.” Her voice is a quiet thing, but the look she’s given lights her up from head to toes, so she laughs and rolls with it. “Next time no corpse party excuses though, just knock on my door.”

“Aw, I thought you’d up and ask me to stay,” Aradia complains, airy and playful and meaning it down to every word, and cycle of life and death be damned, the ground below Feferi’s feet blooms like spring’s come.


End file.
